


Hold One To Me- I'm A Little Unsteady.

by fadedglory



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedglory/pseuds/fadedglory





	Hold One To Me- I'm A Little Unsteady.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sailingships](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingships/gifts).



Harry can still remember what Louis was wearing that day. 

His eyes were a little foggy, having just woken up but he can remember. He remembers the chaste kiss Louis pressed to his still swollen lips. The smell of sex and cologne radiating from Louis’ body in overwhelming waves, and it should have been disgusting, but it wasn’t. If he concentrates hard enough, Harry can hear the click of the door as Louis left. 

He should have seen it coming.

If Harry allowed his emotions to be felt, he would feel the hurt. Realization would hit him like tidal waves, and he’d quiver, then shudder and finally crumble.

Fragility is just an idea, his mother had once told him. She said if you believe you are weak, you will be weak. So Harry believed himself strong, even as his heart shattered, and burned until all the remnants were ashes. He put a smile on his face and faced the world by himself.

Where is all the love supposed to go? Because sometimes when he’s laying in their - his- bed, he doesn’t understand. Where is it supposed to, where did it go?

 

After Zayn’s departure in 2015, the band stayed together for a fifth tour and by then, they were exhausted. Fatigue had crawled into the spaces between Harry’s bones and with so many rumors flying around, it was difficult trying to untangle them from reality. By October 2016, the boys released a statement announcing that a sixth album would not be coming due to the band's decision to dismantle. It was accompanied by a livestream of the band thanking their fans and saying that these memories were for life and would surely would never fade.

He thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Burying a part of himself while it was still breathing, heart still beating was so, so difficult. And the days that followed were even worse. He was papped like never before, being blamed for so many things. And it wasn’t just him, the other boys had it bad too-- but everyone seemed to blame Harry. Which seemed like a good timing for his coming out-- according to his management.

He seemed to have lost everything amongst salty tears and blubbered, “I’m not ready”s.

He wasn’t thinking. That’s the thing, he wasn’t thinking when he did it and once it was done there was no way of taking it back. One second he was laying in bed, a sex dazed Louis sleeping beside him, all tucked into the blankets with his cold feet pressed between Harry’s calves and the next he’s lying on the bathroom tile, feeling hazed and fatigued and fucking stupid, he’s so fucking stupid.

Louis finds him in the morning or whenever he notices Harry’s absence. But he doesn’t rush to Harry’s side to try and console him, he just stares at him with two piercing, vacant eyes and a pale face. Harry stares back, he knows what’s going to happen next but he just, he wasn’t thinking, he really wasn’t thinking. And now, all he can think is that he doesn’t like Louis staring at him as if they were strangers.

A shiver runs through Harry’s spine and it could be because he suddenly realizes how cold the white tiles are or because Louis begins to shake and he’s backing away, tears adorning his pale cheeks. And no, this wasn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. And Harry knows he should get up, but the tiles have wrapped their claws around his body, a body that not long ago was ravishing the boy in front of him.

“I’m not ready, no I’m not ready,” Louis spits out before he turns.

And then the claws release him, and his hand grips around the edge of the toilet, and then he’s emptying his stomach.

 

It's been three solitary years of radio silence between Louis and Harry. And the flowers that once sprouted in Harry's belly when Louis addressed him have long since wilted. And Harry no longer feels like Harry, he feels like-- well not Harry. And perhaps that was his biggest mistake. Allowing someone to take up so much room in his life that their absence feels like his absence.

But it was Louis- had it been anyone else maybe he would be over it, maybe he would've moved on but it was Louis. And Louis was sunshine and smiles and just good, good, good. And he made Harry feel loved, like he's never felt before and now that it's gone-- it just doesn't feel right.

But it's been three years, and he's still healing. Still recovering from losing two of the most important and valued things in his life.

Back in 2011, right after the release of their debut album, Louis and Harry bought a cabin in Northern England, a thirty minute drive from the tip of Yorkshire. To this day, it is suspected that no one knows the location of this cabin, one where both boys would go to enjoy time away. Away was all they had longed for, away was where they could explore their deepest crevices. 

They bought the cabin spontaneously, both boys having far more money than they could count and spend and it seemed like a good idea. Whenever they were radio silent, they were probably woven together between the blankets that adorned their king size bed.

Louis and Harry didn’t always go together, though. Harry can’t count the times he’s gone up there without the blue eyed boy and vice versa. It was a place they could find or lose themselves. A place to get caught up in the simplicity of life and to unravel the mysteries that have been set before them.

Which is why on October 6th, 2019, Harry finds himself driving the hour up north to the little cabin. It's not much, it was a little run down and beaten up when they bought it but together they decorated it and cleaned it and loved the small thing back into something great. It wasn't the materialistic decorations that made the cabin beautiful, the memories tucked into the spacings between the logs held the beauty.

When he pulls into the road that leads toward the secluded cabin, the nostalgia suddenly kicks in and it's like he's sixteen and in love again. Except, he's not sixteen and he's not in love. He's twenty five and he's attempting to find the Harry that doesn't complement the blue eyed boy that once loved him.

Once the front door opens, it becomes apparent to Harry that no one has stepped foot in this cabin for three years. The sunlight pouring through the window makes the dust particles prominent and they immediately settle in Harry's lungs, and he's being overpowered by dead cells that have him hacking up his lungs and he's probably going to die.

What a lovely greeting.

It looks the same. The same two mix-match loveseats (the pink one with the mysterious brown stain and the mustard yellow one that Harry had insisted added to the "homey" aspect) still separate the living room from the antiquated kitchen, where Louis had attempted to create some "feel good vibes" and therefore plastered pictures of David Beckham all over the refrigerator, much to Harry's dismay. It wasn't fabulous, their "dining" table had an imbalanced leg that Harry tried fixing but he only ended up cutting the other legs too short and now the table topples one way then the other. But literally dust covers every single inch of the house and it takes one swipe of his finger along the coffee table to realize that it's time for some long overdue Spring cleaning.

 

Some nights in the cabin feel restless.

After an hour of tossing and turning Harry gets up, dragging two blankets and as many pillows as his arms will carry to the backyard. 

There’s a fence surrounding their cabin, a white picket fence about four feet high. Once, the backyard served as a footie pitch, but now Harry uses it when he can’t sleep.

He looks up at the balls of gas as they shine, except they aren’t really shining. Stars are exploding balls of helium and hydrogen, burning. Much like humans, they burn, and expand before finally caving in on themselves. Perhaps that’s why Harry feels eased by them. He waits in silence until his eyes feel like they’re burning and his skin is itchy from the bugs. And then, he gets up, a sense of ease washes through his body and he’ll drag his limbs back to bed.

This habit ends when the biting temperatures of December arrive. 

 

It’s snowing.

The first thing that Harry notices when he opens his eyes is that it’s snowing. Also, its fucking freezing. Goosebumps run up and down Harry’s torso and he can see his bloody breath every time he exhales. The clock he set beside him is blank.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, pushing the sheets from his legs and sitting up. He reaches for his phone, 7:43am. The sweatpants loosely hanging off his hips don’t protect him from the biting of the air. He gets up and walks toward his dresser searching for an extra pair of sweatpants and a comfortable sweater or two to protect him.

Once dressed, and having realized that yes, the power has in fact gone out. He makes his way to the kitchen, and is once again startled by the life sized Liam standee that’s placed the furthest corner facing him.

“I really need to get rid of that thing,” he says for the hundredth time and rubs his eyes. Louis managed to get his hands on all their standee cutouts, they all suspected that Louis received most of their merchandise, that or he spent pound after pound on useless crap. The cutouts came out of no where. But Liam’s was the only one they kept, Lou liked laughing at the fact that they covered Liam’s birthmark, and attempted to draw it in but really it was just turned into a willy. He can’t get rid of it, not yet at least.

He attempts to make a cup of tea, but right, the power is out. So he grabs his wallet and car keys and leaves.

It’s well past seven when Harry returns. The trunk of his car is packed with necessities, and the house looks intact-- except all the lights are on, and he hopes they haven’t been on for too long. He attempts to open the door, but the bags are so heavy on his forearms that the keys fall before he can get them into the lock.

And the door opens. His heart stops.

No, no, no, this could not be happening.

No socks, worn out sweatpants, The Killers t-shirt Harry bought him for his 19th birthday, a misarrangement of tattoos, thin lips, button nose and icy blue eyes. No.

“Harry?” and the words are stuck in his throat, hardening like cement and blocking his airway and he’s going to puke. “Harry, here, let me help you.” But no, get away from me, don’t touch me. And then his hands are empty, and the keys on the floor picked up and the warmth radiating from inside is making him regain his senses. And he doesn’t know if its sweat or tears rolling down the sides of his face, but it’s something.

The room is orange, the room is yellow and the room is red, burning red. And he stumbles in, shoes still on, a concoction of mud and snow spreading from his shoes to the floor. There’s a fire in the fireplace, blooming and bursting and spitting out words that pierce through his heart and no. Memories flash through his mind, laughter, tears, love, so many emotions and this is all too soon, this is all going so fast. It’s been three years, but even then it doesn’t seem like enough time has passed.

"I haven't seen you in forever, Haz, how have you been?" Louis reaches into one bag pulling out organic raspberries and strawberries and the milk and batteries and orange juice and a box with packets of lube which he sets aside and a vanilla scented candle and three rolls of toilet paper. He pulls out more and more and Harry has yet to reply, he's just standing there staring at Louis who's back has gone tense, as if the Harry's lack of response is putting him on edge. But he won't turn around, so Harry won't reply and he moves around the kitchen fluidly as if he's been here everyday for the past three years.

"I didn't think you would actually be here." Louis says, finally turning around. "For whatever reason, I thought you'd forgotten about this place."

"I don't forget things I love," Harry mumbles and steps out of his shoes. "I hold them close to my heart and don't let go."  
Louis walks toward the stove, one hand reaching down to pull the oven open and retrieves the kettle. "Would you like some tea?"

"I've never liked tea," Harry circles the couch and enters the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water he'd put in there last night. "When did you get here?"

"Around noon, the power was out so I checked the fuses and it came back on, I guess." Louis rubs the back of his neck as Harry opens the bottle and brings it to his lips.

"That's good." He takes a second sip before placing it on the counter. "I guess I'll go pack my things, I don't want to like um interrupt your time."

"Harry, please don't." Louis reaches for Harry's hand, but is met with air particles instead. "We can both stay, we can't just continue avoiding each other."

Harry remains silent, lips sealed tight.

"Please, just don't go."

"You're one to speak," and he walks into their bedroom.

 

He never thought that his first encounter with Louis would be under these circumstances. He always thought that they would be at a band reunion or see each other on the street and then fall immediately in love again.

But that didn't happen and he feels a pulse of anger flush through him with even just the thought of Louis. He didn't deserve it, after three years he's just now realized that he didn't deserve it. So as he places shirts and underwear into his suitcase, he feels a jolt of relief. Because it wasn't his fault. And after so many years of "what if"s and questioning he's finally free from that.

He gets off the floor and zips his suitcase up, ready to head out. He walks towards the door and opens and is met with Louis, again.

"At least wait 'til morning." Were his eyes always so blue? "If you're going to leave, at least wait until morning."

"I really can't stay," Harry says as he attempts to push past louis.

"Baby, it's cold outside."

Silence.

"I guess I set myself up for that one didn't I?" The corners of Harry's mouth tug up, but pull back down almost as quickly. He lets go of his suitcase.

“Come. Sit. I made tea.” Louis retreats to the kitchen.

 

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m sorry?” Harry detaches one of his earbuds, slightly tilting his head in Louis’ direction.

“Are you hungry?” He repeats slowly, over enunciating eat word.

“Um… I guess.” There’s an awkward vibe in the room, making Harry’s spine curl and his toe tingle.

“Good, I made dinner.” Louis pulls on his fingers, a soft “crack” breaking the silence as he retreats back to the kitchen.

“Whaddya make?”

Silence.

“Chicken, stuffed with mozzarella cheese, wrapped in parma ham, with a side of homemade mashed potatoes.”

Silence.

 

“You didn’t deserve that,” Louis says as he cuts through his chicken with his knife, he doesn’t look up.

“I know.”

“I just, I was scared and I wasn’t ready and you were and I didn’t want to lose what we had.” Louis puts his knife down, but never looks up from his plate.

“Well, I mean, we lost it anyways-- right?” Harry wipes his mouth, his leg bopping up and down, his hand trembling.

“Right.” It’s awkward.

“I thought you were going to come back. I thought that if I just waited long enough-- you would come back.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips. He’s tired, his heart aches and the person he once loved is sitting before him. “I thought that you would get over it, that perhaps your love toward me would prove to be stronger than your insecurities but you never came back.” He takes a deep breath, after years of radioactive silence, he can finally breathe. “Niall came by for your things and I swore that I could feel all the stitches in my heart snap, and it became clear to me that I wasn’t what you wanted and fuck, it hurt.”

“I did, Harry, I was just so scared.” Louis looks up.

“No you didn’t!” Harry’s fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles turning sheet white. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have let go!” He stands and Louis looks at him alarmed, but he stands up immediately as well.

“I was scared okay!” He raises his voice, stubbled chin protruding slightly. “I was terrified because you were moving so fast and I have always been a step behind you! I was always the weaker link, I lived in your shadow. You were so great and you were taking this great step and you were going to be helping people and I didn’t know where I fit into that equation! I was selfish and horrified and in denial about everything!” 

Harry shuts up. Anger unfurling from the tip of his spine and unraveling quicker than he can control. “YOU DID NOT LIVE IN MY SHADOWS!”

“WE ALL LIVED IN YOUR SHADOW! WE ALL FUCKING LIVE IN YOUR SHADOW!”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fucking fuck you and your fucking manipulative lies. Fuck you, Louis Tomlinson.”

The door slams shut and the room is pierced with silence.

 

He can’t leave the next day.

The snow outside has piled and they can’t open the front door. And even if he could, his car is covered in snow and the roads aren’t clean or safe for driving. His phone has no signal.

“Maybe it’ll clear up by morning.” Louis’ been attempting at conversation all morning, but Harry isn’t having any of it. He remains silent, partially because he’s afraid of what he might say.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Silence. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I’m just sick of us hating each othe, Harry.”

“I don’t hate you, Louis.”

“It feels like you do,” Louis whispers. “Can we just be friends, try this one more time?”

Silence.

“Remember the first time we came here? And you chose that hideous yellow sofa and there ended up being a hideous brown stain on it by the time we left?” Harry faces Louis, he never did know how that stain got there. “I told you that it must’ve been there when we got it but we missed it? Well… what happened was that I was up early one morning and I was having me cereal here on the couch and it had chocolate bits in it, right? And so I didn’t notice this particular piece had fallen out me mouth and it warmed up and it stained not only this couch but also me favorite red trousers and I put them in the washer and they got stained by bleach or something.”

“It wasn’t you that bleached those trousers…” Harry admits trying to hide his smirk.

“HAROLD YOU BLEACHED MY FAVORITE RED TROUSERS!?” Louis stares at Harry, eyes open comically wide and mouth stretched open.

“I’m sorry! I just… you wore them every single day! They were ugly! I bought you new ones though, remember? But they didn’t fit!”

“Are you calling me fat? Jokes, I actually hated the pair you got me, they were hideous.”

“You lied to me?!”

“THEY HAD SEQUINS ON THE BACK POCKETS, HAROLD!” Louis throws his hands in the air and Harry laughs, a hand coming up to slap against his mouth.

“I guess they were hideous,” Harry admits and both men erupt into a fit of laughter, clutching their stomachs and hiding their smiles.

 

“I can sleep on the couch tonight, you have a bad back and you were here first.”

“Thank you. I’ll bring some blankets out for you, I washed them a couple days ago.”

 

“Harry?” The door creaks open but Harry doesn’t reply. “Harry, are you awake?” Soft foot steps land on the hardwood floor. A hand lands on his shoulder, “Harry, love, wake up.” Silence. The left side of the bed dips and his back is exposed to the biting cold. “Sorry, love. It’s really cold out there.” A kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry waits until cold feet are tucked between his ankles and Louis’ labored breaths turn into soft puffs. “Goodnight, Lou.”

 

The pale morning light shone through the bedroom blinds, seeping through the cracks and awakening the madness that resided in the corner of the hut sized room. Under the covers bones ached and craniums pounded and hearts shuddered under the timid soft blow of the heater. Limbs entwined with one another stretched and sore muscles tugged on hamstrings erupting pain and a soft giggle came from beneath the covers and the harsh morning light shone through the blinds.


End file.
